


Soaked

by FinAmour



Series: A Change in Altitude [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, And a bit of a praise kink as well, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Creative use of bath products, Emotionanal, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hair Washing, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Insecure Sherlock, John and Sherlock are naked literally the entire time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Sherlock has a serious hair pulling kink, Shower Sex, Smut, Top John, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-04 23:24:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13375260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FinAmour/pseuds/FinAmour
Summary: Sequel to “Undress Me, John.”This story takes place at a cabin in the Alps, the morning after their first night of passion.They wake up and immediately launch themselves into a glorious day of even more passion.And a very well-constructed shower.I promise it’ll be steamy.





	Soaked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sherlockholmish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockholmish/gifts).



> This was my first time writing from Sherlock’s point of view, and it was a lot more challenging than I expected! He’s such a lovely, complex, sensory creature. It was a fun learning experience, and I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> I also want to thank Anya, agirlsname, tellywhich, and Minerva for your inspiration :)

Judging by the position of the sunlight pouring into the room, it’s 9:23 AM. A mountain wind is blowing at 11 kilometres per hour, slightly rattling the cabin’s window panes.

Soft, bare skin underneath Sherlock’s fingertips; a naked body pressed along the length of his. Steady breathing just out of sync with his own, hot exhalations on his neck. The scent of off-brand shampoo and a distinct warm, dry musk that could only signify one person.

 _John_.

Sherlock’s eyes flutter open.

_He and John had sex last night._

Emerging into a state of further consciousness, Sherlock deliberately hits the pause button on his initial instinct to panic. Instead, he wills himself to bask in the sensory glow of the man sleeping next to him. Their bodies have become entangled, facing one another and cramped into the tiny space of the sofa; arms and legs crossed as though they are two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

Sherlock hadn’t meant for it to happen. Not really.

It occurs to him, though, that he isn’t altogether surprised that events unfolded in such a manner. He has always felt an intense connection to John, and he’s also aware that John finds him sexually attractive. In their years of friendship, with the closeness they have developed, the constant gravity and pull surrounding them- it just seemed inevitable that, if they were to be tucked away and isolated in some type of conventially romantic atmosphere, they may end up somehow giving in to that magnetism.

And when Sherlock had returned to their cabin, the previous night, after solving a case- cold, wet, and shivering- John had offered to undress him, and Sherlock found that he could not stop thinking about what it would be like to have John’s strong, callused hands on his body.

John was his doctor, after all, and he had only wanted to help. Where was the harm in that?

But those hands just may have caused Sherlock to lose all control, and it may have led to the singular most erotic experience he had ever had.

He buries his face into the top of John’s head, inhaling the aroma as he tries to ignore the daunting question of what it all actually _means_. There is one thing of which he is immediately certain; if he could choose to exist in one moment indefinitely, he would lie here forever with his arms full of John. He would intricately study every inch of him; the curves of his torso, the dimples in his backside, the sensation of his bare hips against Sherlock’s own.

It isn’t exactly forever, but for eighteen minutes and thirty-six seconds, he does exactly that. He shuts his eyes and enters his Mind Palace, unlocking the door to the wing he has constructed for John. He creates a new filing cabinet and labels it _“John: intimate”,_ cataloguing as much information as he currently can.

He is pulled from his thoughts as John awakens with a soft sigh.

John drags the palm of his hand over his own face, clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth, and yawns. His eyes drift open, drowsy and unfocused.

When he sees Sherlock lying next to him, he beams so brightly that the mid-morning sunlight dulls in comparison.

And Sherlock instantly changes his mind- if he could partake in one moment indefinitely, it would be this one, with John smiling up at him like he’s just hung the moon.

“Morning, Sherlock.”

“Mmmmph.”

“Right. Still rendered speechless, I take it?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes, feigning incredulity. “Hardly. I’ve been awake for nearly twenty minutes. Plenty of time to allow it all to sink in.”

“Yeah? Well,” John’s fingertips wander down Sherlock’s side before he settles his hand on his upper hip. “Give me a moment to catch up, then.”

Sherlock blinks and stares at him for several seconds, waiting for him to do something Earth-shattering. John simply leans his face forward, grazing his lips against his. Somehow, this turns on a switch inside him, igniting sparks throughout his entire body.

He becomes instantaneously miffed at the tiny distance between their lips, so he impatiently tucks his hands behind John’s head, bringing their faces together and capturing John's mouth in his.

Sherlock groans in satisfaction and his hips lurch forward involuntarily as he begins to trace John’s lips with his tongue. John’s mouth opens slightly, and Sherlock runs his tongue along his teeth, discovering the inside of his mouth. His taste is a hint of cardamom and remnants of last night’s whisky, and Sherlock ensures that he catalogues this all as well.

He can feel John’s lips creep upwards into a smile as he hums contentedly, his fingers continuing to graze up and down Sherlock’s hip.

“John,” Sherlock says breathlessly. “We are both still very much naked, and I should warn you that if we continue down this path, you’re going to be reminded of just exactly how naked I am.”

“Mm. Is that a promise?”

Sherlock isn’t really sure of who he’s trying to fool. He’s already beginning to harden, and John, as he can feel below his waist, is in the exact same situation.

“Perhaps we should move this to the bedroom,” Sherlock suggests. “I’ve got a terrible crick in my neck.”

John exhales a short breath of laughter. “I’m definitely up for a change of scenery. But I’m still a bit… sticky from last night.” He lowers his eyes to his stomach and arm. “I’d like to shower first.”

Sherlock whimpers disapprovingly and nuzzles his head against John’s shoulder. “If you must,” he sighs. “However, I’d like to take this moment to remind you that the shower is preposterously large, and it might feel lonely to do so on your own.”

“Is that so?” John’s blue eyes sparkle mischievously. “Know of anyone who might care to join me?”

“Hmm, possibly.”

“Well, then.” John lightly kisses his forehead, rolls over and pushes himself upwards, planting his feet onto the ground. “Tell them I’ll be waiting.”

As he stands to leave, Sherlock automatically thinks that he can’t bear to be away from him. He outstretches his arm and wraps his fingers around John’s wrist, tugging him back. John huffs in amusement, squeezes his hand, and silently pulls him from the sofa.

They wander into the bathroom together. The walls are black marble with pretentious hanging art; two large sinks; a bathtub and an oversized shower stall. Sherlock thinks about how hideous it all is, but John turns his head back to flash a coquettish eye at him, and he forgets about it all. 

John leans in and turns the water on. “Hope you like it hot,” he says with a grin.

Sherlock simply arches an eyebrow at the attempted double entendre, and John bursts into laughter.

Sherlock loves that he can sometimes make John laugh without really even trying.

The water beats down from the shower head onto the floor; it’s one of those gaudy “pouring rain” types. As the two of them wait for the water to become warm, Sherlock silently stares at their fingers laced together through a room filling with steam.

As John steps into the shower, he follows, letting his hands fall to his sides. They stand facing one another as John arranges himself vertically beneath the shower head. It hangs high above them, allowing plenty of space to move. John closes his eyes and raises his arms to distribute the water throughout his short hair.

Sherlock’s breathing becomes slightly irregular as he observes the water trickling down John’s compact, sturdy body, pooling around his magnificent cock.

Once John’s hair is properly wet, he peeks an eye open at him and grins. “Hey, you,” he says as he reaches over and picks up the bar of soap next to him. “Just going to stand there gawking, are we?”

“Hm, no.” Sherlock responds, his eyes wandering up and down John’s body as it glistens in the water. “I’m sure I can find a way to make myself useful.” He bites his bottom lip as he snatches the soap from John.

“Turn around and face the wall,” Sherlock demands.

John squints at him warily through the water, and for a moment, Sherlock thinks he might object, but he does not. Wordlessly, he turns himself toward the wall, leaning slightly forward so that the water is pouring on his shoulders rather than his head.

Sherlock, gripping onto the soap, rubs his hands together to create a sudsy foam. He returns it to its place and takes a step forward, and the sound of water splashes around them. He lifts his arms and wraps them around the upper part of John’s naked body, splaying his fingers over John’s pectorals, and he begins to rub the area slowly, sliding his palms over his cold, erect nipples.

“Oh,” John exhales. “You’re going to… wash me, then?”

Sherlock manoeuvres his head through the water and settles his chin at the top of John’s shoulder. He tilts it so that his lips brush against John’s ear and drops his voice to a low whisper. “You’re _very_ dirty right now, John,” he purrs. “I thought perhaps you could use some... help with that.”

He can feel John’s breath hitching in his throat, his eyes squinting as his thoughts seemingly begin to spin. “Mm, yes, I- you can help as much as you’d like,” he murmurs.

So Sherlock moves his long, masterful fingers to massage the suds over the front of John’s torso. He inches himself down, rubbing his chest, his abdomen, and his hips. John groans and shivers, water continuing to pour down their backs.

He languorously slides his palms in upward and downward motions over John’s slippery body, purposely avoiding his stiffening erection. John stifles a moan as his hips grind up furiously, his cock begging for attention.

Sherlock smirks as he finally glides down his hands and wraps his fingers around John’s glorious length, and it twitches in Sherlock’s hand. He begins to pump very, very slowly, John writhing and groaning in his grasp.

“God, yes, that’s good, Sherlock. Just like that. God, your hands are fucking amazing.”

Sherlock’s entire body warms at the praise John is giving him, and he finds that he has become quite hard as well.

Sherlock keeps pushing and pulling, and John alternates between biting back his moans of pleasure and inundating Sherlock with praise. It’s fantastic, but Sherlock realises that he wants even more. 

He stops what he’s doing and pulls away.

“Sherlock,” John pants raggedly, “Everything alright?”

”Perfect,” Sherlock replies coyly. In one swift motion, he drops to his knees and takes John’s hips with both hands. “I want to know your taste,” he says, and he swings John around so that his back is against the side wall. The water cascades over Sherlock’s shoulder as he promptly takes John into his mouth.

John emits a startled gasp and clenches his eyes shut, gripping on to Sherlock’s shoulders for balance. “Oh, Jesus, fuck, Sherlock!” He utters. “You could give me a bit more of a warning-“ and then his words dissolve into a high-pitched “Aaaahaaahahaaa.”

Sherlock hollows his cheeks, sliding his head up and down, lapping his tongue in circles across the shaft of John’s cock.

John’s grip on Sherlock’s shoulders becomes tighter, and he sucks in a loud, harsh breath, digging his fingernails into Sherlock’s skin. His knees seemingly begin to buckle beneath him, and he backs further into the wall to support his body as he tries to restrain his hips from pushing up into Sherlock’s mouth.

The taste of John is incomparable. It’s rich and beautiful and sweaty and salty and so very, very _him_. Sherlock finds that he is immediately addicted to his flavour, and he doesn’t want to stop. He all but inhales John’s cock, basking in its taste, addled with desire for it, going deeper and deeper with each movement. He hums and sucks and pushes as much as he possibly can, clutching and grasping at John’s hips as John huffs and gasps.

“Oh, God, Sherlock, you’re incredible,” John hisses. “But you’ve got to slow it down, or this is going to end much, much sooner than I’d like for it to.” Sherlock raises his half-lidded eyes up to John’s face, and notices his tortured expression as he pulls himself out of Sherlock’s mouth.

“Just...” he exhales dizzily, “Let’s do you now.” He looks down at Sherlock, who is still on his knees, and smiles conspiratorially before leaning over and planting a kiss on his lips.

“Stay exactly where you are,” he instructs as he reaches for a bottle of shampoo, popping the cap open and pouring a dollop into his hand.

Sherlock furrows his brow quizzically, and John places his hands on Sherlock’s head, tangling them in his curls. All becomes clear when he begins to run his fingers through Sherlock’s hair and the sensation sends a jolt of electricity throughout Sherlock’s body. His eyes roll back as he groans hoarsely, leaning into John’s touch.

John massages Sherlock’s head for several moments, allowing the shampoo to lather. He rubs sensuously against his scalp, around his temples, and down to his neck. He takes his time, alternating the pressure, and Sherlock shivers at the sensation, feeling as though he is floating through space.

Without warning, John stops at a wet mass of curls, giving them a tiny tug- and Sherlock gasps in pleasure.

“You like that, hm?” John breathes.

“Mmmmmm,” Sherlock responds.

John grins and continues to weave his fingers over Sherlock’s scalp a bit more, through the thick, damp black mop of curls, pressing down and massaging. Sherlock’s eyes flutter open and shut, pleasure pulsing everywhere within him.

Then John tightens his grip and pulls, harder this time. Sherlock emits a sound that is a cross between a cry and a desperate moan, his hands clenching firmly onto John’s hips.

It is nearly enough to send Sherlock over the edge. How does John know to do this? Sherlock doesn’t think it’s something that’s altogether common, and yet he has deduced that this particular action would drive Sherlock mad with lust.

John kneads his fingers through his hair until Sherlock’s head is lulling back and forth in blind pleasure.

Stopping, gripping, pulling. Each time, Sherlock gasps and moans and writhes with arousal, the head of his cock beginning to leak more with every tug.

John Watson is a complete wonder.

And just as Sherlock begins to feel that he might become lost in sensory overload, John brings him back to Earth. Removing his hands from his hair, he slips them into Sherlock’s, tugging him upwards into a standing position.

“Sherlock,” he whispers breathily. “God, you are so-“ he leans in and presses an open-mouthed kiss to Sherlock’s neck- “fucking…” another kiss- “gorgeous.” He traces a line with his tongue up Sherlock’s neck and tilts up to nibble on his chin.

The corners of Sherlock’s lips turn upwards as he uses his body to push John back against the wall, planting his hands on either side of his shoulders. Their bodies are drenched, pressed together, their wet, hard erections sliding up and down against one another.

“John,” Sherlock groans. “I want you to- _ohhhh_.”

“Want me to... what?” John pants.

Sherlock doesn’t answer- he simply continues to glide his cock furiously against John’s, squeezing their bodies together as tightly as possible. Then, stricken with inspiration, he reaches up and grabs the second bottle on the wall- conditioner. He opens it, pouring a generous amount into his hand and over the heads of their penises.

“Sherlock,” John grunts, though he seems too far gone to argue much, “I don’t think that’s the... intended usage.”

“It’s fine,” Sherlock argues through his heaving breaths. “I’ve... used it before...as lubrication. Sometimes it leaves a bit of a...tingly feeling, but it’s actually...rather nice.”

“Ngh...Whatever you say, you... mad wanker,” John acquiesces.

“John, I don’t wish to...wank right now,” Sherlock responds drily. “I was actually rather hoping you would...fuck me.”

“God, yes. Alright.” John shivers as his eyes fall closed. “Erm, I mean.” He stops his grinding motions, his eyes opening again as he looks up at Sherlock. “I’m clean, just so you’re aware,” he says.

Sherlock pauses as well, pursing his lips together in confusion. “I should hope so. I just washed you rather thoroughly.”

John lowers his head into Sherlock’s chest, his sides convulsing with laughter. “Right, that you did,” he agrees. “But I’m talking about my sexual health.”

“Oh,” Sherlock says as a burst of realisation overcomes him. “Well, yes, of course you are. So am I. I get tested regularly.”

“Right. Good,” John says. “Then I would really, really like to grant you your request.” He takes Sherlock by the shoulders and reverses their positions, spinning them so that Sherlock is facing forward against the wall with John directly behind him.

Sherlock is utterly helpless in John’s hands, allowing himself to be guided fully into position. He immediately bends forward ever so slightly, pushing his lower body backward against John.

John grips onto Sherlock’s hips, aligning the shaft of his cock against his crevice, seemingly with no intention of pressing in just yet. He simply rubs his wet body against Sherlock’s, pulling his upper torso towards him so that he can lick and suck, leaving marks on his shoulders and back. He reaches up and grabs the bottle of conditioner, and Sherlock can hear him pouring it into his hands.

He then wraps his arms around the front of Sherlock’s waist, enclosing his cock in his slippery hand, and begins to pump while raising his own hips up and down, moaning and sliding himself against Sherlock’s backside.

After a few strokes, John takes his other hand, still doused in conditioner, and glides it down to work his finger around the entrance of Sherlock’s hole. Sherlock quivers as John teases the area for a few moments. Once John pushes his finger in, Sherlock responds by involuntarily snapping his hips upward into John’s other hand. John glides in and out, slowly opening him up, and Sherlock presses back into him, writhing impatiently.

“More, John,” he moans, and he folds his body forward, spreading his legs further.

“Mm, yes, okay,” John responds, and he obeys. He presses a second finger in, and Sherlock pants, his hips grinding backward and forward, meeting John’s hands on each side.

John continues to push and slicken the opening, more and more, until Sherlock is whimpering with desire.

“John,” Sherlock snaps at him. “Fuck me, now. _Please_.”

“Sherlock, I...”

” _Do it._ ”

So John pulls his fingers out and grabs the bottle of conditioner again. He squirts the remaining amount onto his cock and Sherlock can hear him carelessly toss the bottle onto the floor. Sherlock bends all the way forward as John lines the head of himself up with his opening and slowly, carefully presses in.

They both heave a sigh as Sherlock feels the tip of John’s penis becoming gradually encased within him. He is overcome by the searing pleasure mixed with pain, and he momentarily forgets to breathe. He can sense John pause for a moment, waiting for him to acclimate.

His eyes twist shut and he bites down on his lip, hard. “Keep going,” he exhales raggedly.

John continues to slide into him, inch by inch, moment by moment. Sherlock relaxes his body on to his, revelling in the feeling of John moving deeper and deeper inside of him.

His entire body is humming with arousal, blood singing in his ears, and he begins to thrust back, slowly at first, but then urgently, craving more. “John, please, I’m fine, just…” and he pushes himself backwards. “Do it.”

“You sure?” John utters.

” _Yes_ ,” Sherlock groans. “Fuck. Me.”

And John does just that. He places both hands on Sherlock’s sides for stability, arching and bucking his hips into him repeatedly. He moans and grunts, and Sherlock gives as good as he gets, impaling himself into John’s thrusts.

Sherlock’s head becomes a mess, filled with so many sensations, every brain cell, every thought, every breath, all screaming _John, John, John_ , until his world dissolves into nothing but moans and snaps and cursing and steam and water and pleasure.

Just as Sherlock begins to feel his climax impending, John moves one hand to grab onto Sherlock’s cock. One pull, two, three, and he can feel himself clenching and crying out as he pours himself over John.

John continues his thrusts, Sherlock writhing against him, until he groans hoarsely, coming explosively inside Sherlock’s body.

Seconds later, as John leans down against Sherlock’s back and presses kisses onto it, it occurs to Sherlock that he’s unsure of how the hell they’re both still standing.

——————

Minutes later, they have both managed to rinse, dry off, and tuck themselves beneath the covers of the luxurious, plush Master bed. Comfortable and spent in one another’s arms, they use the next few minutes to alternate between dozing off and kissing lazily.

Sherlock sighs contentedly as he twines his fingers in John’s. He can barely process the extreme satisfaction he is feeling at the moment- he and John, lying in bed together, far, far away from the rest of their world. 

And then a thought strikes Sherlock. Soon, they would be returning home. And Sherlock can’t help but wonder: would John actually want to continue all of this once they are back in London? Sherlock becomes keenly aware that the effects of oxytocin mixed with their current, overly romanticised setting could potentially be all this is.

The look of worry must register clearly on his face, because almost instantly, John’s hand is on his cheek, and he’s peering into him with a look of contemplation and concern.

“Hey,” John whispers. “Where did you go just now?” He strokes Sherlock’s cheekbone, sliding his thumb to touch the Cupid’s Bow of his mouth.

Sherlock kisses his thumb as if it were an involuntary response, but then he presses his lips together and backs away. “It’s nothing,” he responds flatly.

John raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth turning up. “I can tell when you’re lying, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Hmph,” is Sherlock’s only response.

John shakes his head, rolls his eyes, and pulls himself into a sitting position. He takes Sherlock’s face into his hands and they lock eyes.

“Listen, you.” His expression is soft and for a second, Sherlock’s heart feels like it’s going to burst into a million pieces.

John clears his throat. “Like I said last night. We don’t have to talk about… this… until you’re ready. But I know what you’re probably thinking, and-“

“John, stop,” Sherlock interrupts. “You don’t have to do this, you know. Pretend that this all means something in the long run. Rest assured, we can return to normal as soon as we set foot back into Baker Street.”

John lowers his hands into his lap and he huffs incredulously, his face growing red with irritation. “What? You think I want that? Sherlock, you ought to know me better by now. I’m not, nor have I ever been, the type to have some sort of meaningless fling!”

“No,” Sherlock’s face begins to darken as he speaks. “But that’s because you are simply a kind and loyal person who always tries to do the right thing.” He breathes steadily through his nose, averting his gaze. “You believe that if someone allows you to have sex with them, you’ve become indebted to them in some way, and you owe them flowers, candy, dates- some effort toward a relationship.” He lowers his eyes to his hands, clasped together on his stomach. “I’m simply giving you an out. I’m telling you that you don’t need to do that for me.”

“For fuck’s sake, Sherlock!” John‘s fists clench involuntarily as his voice is becomes higher and fraught with frustration. “You must be truly daft if you think that’s all this is to me. If you think I can just go back home and- pretend this-“ he flails his arms outwards in a gesture meant to encapsulate their current situation- “never happened!”

Sherlock stares at him blankly, but John refuses to reciprocate his gaze.

They sit in silence for an eternity, and John’s breathing is rapid with anger. Finally, Sherlock swallows before he speaks. “So you’re saying… you…”

“Want this, yeah.” John blinks several times and finally lifts his eyes to meet Sherlock’s again. “Don’t _you_?”

 _Oh. John… wants this. Wants him. Not just here, but everywhere_.

Sherlock surely _had_ been as daft as John had thought.

In lieu of a response, Sherlock sits up and inches forward toward John. He takes both of his legs and arms and wraps himself completely around John’s body, clinging to him like an octopus. Once he has completely enveloped him, he presses his face into the crevice of his neck and shoulder.

And he simply sits there, holding John and breathing him in.

John remains tense, but Sherlock does not move or make an effort to loosen his grip.

After a few moments, John gives in, softening his body with a sigh. He wraps his arms around Sherlock as well, tilting his head and dusting his neck with soft kisses.

They say nothing. They don’t really need to. They only sit there for a long while, tangled and buried in one another, their breathing the only sound in the room.

“John,” Sherlock finally says. “It’s very cold outside. I believe the most logical thing to do is stay in bed all day.”

“You’ll hear no argument from me on that,” John says as he smiles against Sherlock’s neck. “Though we should actually try skiing at some point, seeing as we’re at a ski resort and all.”

“Boring.”

“Have you ever even tried it?”

“Don’t need to. I already know I’d prefer to spend my time in bed with you.”

John lifts his head and Sherlock immediately feels the loss of his warmth. “I’ll go make some tea,” he suggests.

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that as it goes against our strict ‘staying in bed all day’ policy.”

“Sherlock. You do know we’re going to have to get out of bed at some point, right? Our bodies have certain… needs.”

“The only thing I need at this moment, John Watson,” Sherlock says slyly, “is for you to kiss me.”

So John kisses him, and when he does, Sherlock notices that the bright sunlight pouring into the room seems to dull once again.

**Author's Note:**

> I did a fair amount of research for this fic, including, but not limited to, the advantages and disadvantages of hair conditioner as anal lube. Turns out the internet has mostly nice things to say about it.
> 
> Also, the shower sex may or may not have been inspired a little by Martin Freeman’s character in Startup ;)


End file.
